"I'm saying, your father was an agent. You're an agent, Ms. Gray, but you've never worked in the field."
"No," I say faintly. Where's he going with this?
"Field agents make tough decisions. Sometimes they go rogue, let their own agendas affect their actions."
I suddenly can't breathe.
My father was a rogue agent? He did something wrong? Something bad?
"I'm a handler for field agents," I say tightly. "I know the things we might ask of them."
"Yes, and sometimes, agents go off the rails, Ms. Gray. They take actions that weren't part of the directive. Mistakes happen. That's what I'm saying. Your father's files are redacted. I'm not going to give you access to them, and I'm telling you if I did, you wouldn't like what you found. Forget about your father's last mission. Remember him as a hero, the way you always have. That's my advice to you."
My stomach is tighter than a drum. "I see," I say faintly.
"Ms. Gray?"
"Yes, sir?"
"How did you discover your father was an agent?"
My pulse picks up speed. I can't tell him I hacked the CIA's database. I'll lose my job. "I, um, found a journal of his. It's cryptic-he wouldn't have recorded government secrets-but I, I recognized some code words." Oh my God, I'm the worst liar ever.
Scape is quiet for a moment. "That journal is government property. I need you to return it to me as soon as possible."
My mind casts about wildly. "I already destroyed it." I'm proud of how even and confident my voice sounds. "I know these sorts of things shouldn't exist."
"I see." I'm not sure he believes me. "Well, I want you to forget about this. Stop looking, stop asking questions. Understood?"
The knot in my stomach unwinds a fraction of an inch. There's something off about his directive. "Yes, sir." I lightly tap my keyboard again.
"That's all." He hangs up without a goodbye.
I stare at my screen for a long time without seeing it. I'm tempted to call my sister, to ask her if she remembers anything, but she's not going to. My father wouldn't have been careless. If I know nothing, then surely my sister knows just as little. And we'll never know what our mother knew because she died last year of ovarian cancer.
My father's death involved something ugly. That's the only conclusion I can draw from my conversation with Director Scape. He wouldn't have warned me off the whole thing if there wasn't some big secret the government doesn't want anyone to know.
I consider his words. Do I want to know if my father did something awful? Something immoral? Something possibly related to innocent lives being lost?
I tap my keyboard-a nervous habit I should really stop.
Well, I'm not the kind of person to hide her head in the sand. If my father did something morally repugnant, I still want to know. Believing in a lie won't make my life any better.
Of course, finding out the truth could make it worse.
But something about the way Director Scape spoke to me has me on the defensive. Now, I want to know just because he warned me off. I'm stubborn like that. And he is an idiot if he thinks a CIA agent trained to dig up information is going to stop searching just because he tells her to. Especially, when he essentially confirmed there's something to find.
CHARLIE
I GET the tracking device into Frangelico's phone using the old jostle and pickpocket method when we pass by each other in the bar, returning it a few moments later when I emerged from the men's room.
By the time I get back to my room to get it online, I find the bug is dead.
Which probably means I've been made. Maybe I was made back on the balcony. The guy definitely seems to have a sixth sense.
A thought occurs to me that sends goosebumps prickling up my skin.
Could he be one of… us? Ugh. I can't believe I'm even saying us. But there's no denying it-I'm a monster like the rest of them, a man-beast who can't control his own urges.
Jared seemed to know I was a wolf by my scent. I haven't refined my new senses enough to distinguish anything, but suppose this guy Frangelico could? Suppose he scented or heard me out on his balcony?
I can smell the difference between male and female now. Hell, I'm fairly certain I can smell the scent of arousal on a female. That thought shouldn't bring the image of the lovely Annabel Gray to mind, but it does.
I've met with her before-dozens of times. But this last time, maybe because of my enhanced senses, everything seemed so vivid. The color of her long thick hair-dyed dark auburn and pulled back from her face with one single lock hanging down across her cheek, the smoothness of her skin, those big black eyeglass frames she wears that give her the sexy librarian look.
And her scent.
Really, I think that's what did me in.
She smelled like… heaven.
I had to snatch her ice cream out of her hand because if I didn't, I was going to try to devour her. The big bad wolf eating out his sexy handler.
I wanted to untie that halter top and let the scrap of fabric covering her breasts fall to the sand and see how pink her nipples are against that moon-pale skin. And that thought has me picturing what I'd have to do next-run the tip of my tongue between her breasts to find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
The next jumble of images that crowd my brain raise a snarl in my throat. Annabel on her hands and knees with me behind her, riding hard. Her hair wrapped around my fist like a leash.